


Yours or Mine, They're Both Ours

by Nehszriah



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005), The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: (and they're not even Twelve and Danny), Adoption, Blended family, Clara's boys are going to drive her mental, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Kid Fic, Malcolm is also a sap, Prompt Fic, Sibling Bonding, contains mention of Danny's canon death, kid-chaperoned honeymoon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-01
Updated: 2016-02-16
Packaged: 2018-05-17 16:32:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5877817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nehszriah/pseuds/Nehszriah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From a prompt on tumblr: AU where Clara stopped traveling with the Doctor after Danny died because she was pregnant. Five years on she and Malcolm have been together for a few years, are living together, and Malcolm is raising Danny's child as his own. However, Clara still constantly worries that he might be bothered on some level by the fact that the child isn't biologically his.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For this AU, I went and decided to take the Doctor completely out of the picture, so Clara has never seen any of his faces, let alone met him. Otherwise, I'm pretty sure she'd know how weird it is that the Doctor's human doppelganger is helping her raise Danny's kid... so yeah.

Sunlight poured in from the window, bathing the couple in extra warmth as they enjoyed their lie-in. It was the weekend, thank goodness, and both had nothing special in their diaries to ready for; pure bliss.

“Mmm… Clara, love, you up yet?” Malcolm asked, kissing the back of his girlfriend’s neck. She wiggled in place, rolling so that she faced him.

“Been awake longer than you, Sleeping Beauty,” she giggled. They kissed lazily, snuggling up and smiling against another’s lips. It only lasted a few minutes before the door to the bedroom opened and the mattress began to shift.

“Mum, what’s for breakfast?” the little boy asked as he crawled over Malcolm. He wedged himself between him and Clara, looking up at the ceiling dramatically. “I’m _hungry_.”

“Ach, you’re hungry?” Malcolm chuckled. “Didn’t we just feed you?”

“ _Last night!_ ” the boy laughed. “I get hungry _a lot_ , Malcolm! I’m not like you—I still need to grow big and strong and Mum says I can’t do that on coffee and allsorts!”

“Alright, then get your wee arse to the kitchen and I’ll be right down,” he replied. After the child darted off, he kissed Clara again for good measure and rolled out of bed. “No rest for the wicked, I suppose.”

“You don’t have to go—Robert’s my son,” she sighed, staring at him while she still laid in bed.

“It’s nothing; don’t worry about it,” he said, his tone nearly curt. Malcolm fastened his robe and left the room, which allowed Clara to find her pajama bottoms and own robe so she wasn’t freezing as she went downstairs in the chilly house.

_Malcolm’s house_ , she reminded herself on occasion as she came home after picking her son up from school or returned from the supermarket. She and Robert had done alright by themselves, even without the occasional month where her gran would invade their flat and insist on taking care of them. It was a good enough life—a photo of her with Danny sat next to her son’s bed and she’d tell him all sorts of stories about his father, a good and decent man if she ever met one. She would have happily become Mrs. Pink long before Robert was born, she’d say, and he could have even had younger siblings… but something told the world it could handle only one Mr. Pink for the moment, and she was glad to have him be her son.

Then, like the foul-mouth whirlwind he was, Malcolm Tucker came into their lives. The government teacher had needed a second to help with her fieldtrip to Whitehall and it was Clara’s turn to assist. She and the former Director of Communications had hit it off immediately, with him complimenting her wit and lobbing of questions, while she saw a boyish charm underneath the lines that were beginning to harden his face. A week later they met for dinner; a month later he met Robert; half a year later and the house Malcolm had barely any prior use for was suddenly, at his request, occupied by his girlfriend and a four-year-old. Over a whole year had passed since then, the three of them living as a family, all the while a small, nagging thought tugging at the back of her brain: would it last?

Clara watched from afar as Malcolm whipped up some pancakes for Robert, hiding in the spot in the front hall that allowed her to spy on the kitchen unseen. Mostly such power was used for making sure her son was doing his homework, but occasionally she kept an eye on both her boys at once. Robert sat at the table, bouncing in place excitedly with everything necessary for pancakes spread out in front of him, while her ruffled boyfriend tended the griddle.

“Right now; who’s ready for a fuckcake?” Malcolm asked.

“Me!” Robert cheered, raising his knife and fork above his head. Clara wondered what Danny would say, knowing his son was learning such language so young, but that didn’t matter. She saw Malcolm place the pancake mold back in the pan and pour some more batter in. By the time he took the mold out and was ready to flip, she had decided to walk in.

“And how’s breakfast?” she asked, bending down to kiss her son on the cheek. He giggled the awkward way his father used to and squirmed in his seat. She sat down next to him, trying not to frown as she saw the twinkle in his brown eyes—brown like Danny’s. Her eyes were brown as well, but Robert’s were such a deep, rich brown that at times they almost looked black. It had been a long time since she moved past her would-be-husband’s death, though the fact that Robert was the spitting image of him occasionally made things difficult. She couldn’t blame him, or anyone really, because it was now the past and she’d need a time machine to reverse it.

“One Tucker-brand fuckcake for the lady,” Malcolm said, placing a plate in front of Clara. The mold he used was one of an angry frowning face—a gag gift one year from his assistant Sam, from before the prison sentence that relegated him to years of probation and a demotion to what was little more than a tour guide, which he took knowing there were few other places he could go. She looked up and thanked him, afterwards reaching for the jam that Robert had placed on the table.

Breakfast progressed much as it always did on weekends: Malcolm serving up hot pancakes while Robert quickly ate his fill and Clara went slow enough to be at the table when her son left and boyfriend sat down to eat his food. She took his hand as he ate, the both of them using the sides of their forks to cut through the fluffy pancakes in silence. It had been a long week at work for both of them and sometimes a bit of silence was all they wanted.

Except it wasn’t a very silent house with a little boy in Year One living across the hall from them. A loud thump came from upstairs, followed by a muffled “I’m okay,” made both adults wince.

“One of these days the three of us are going to A&E, and it’s either because Bert broke his arm or gave me a heart attack,” Malcolm joked. When he noticed that Clara wasn’t laughing, he began to frown. “Are you alright, love?”

“Well, sort of,” she began. She then put down her fork and palmed her eyes in frustration. “I just wonder sometimes.”

“Wonder? About what?”

“It’s just… I know you’ve told me that Robert and me being a package deal is perfectly fine, and I wouldn’t give him up for anything, but…”

“What, did one of his classmates make fun of him again?” he asked.

“No… it’s… I wonder sometimes how things would be if Robert had your eyes instead of Danny’s.”

“…oh.” Malcolm went quiet, poking at the remnants of the treacle-y frown still sitting on his plate. “When do you want to start?”

Clara blinked at him, confused. “Excuse me?”

“When do you want to start trying?” he repeated. It was now his turn to gape in confusion as his girlfriend gave him a puzzled look. “This isn’t you asking to have another kid…?”

“No…?!” she replied. “Malcolm, this is me asking if you really are perfectly fine raising another man’s child. You can’t even lie saying Robert’s yours—it’d be _normal_ to hold at least a little resentment, but I can’t tell if you do or don’t.”

“I think you’ve lived here long enough to where you could have figured out if there was a problem,” he said. “I didn’t make him, and I can’t outright _replace_ his Da, but I’ve got no problem doing what I can to help make that part of his life easier.” He took her hands in both his own, holding them tight. “Just because I’m an ornery piece of shite at work doesn’t mean I feel that way when I’m at home with the two of you. As far as I’m concerned, he’s mine.”

Tears welled in Clara’s eyes as he talked, making her throat constrict and her nose stuffy. “He’s not _yours_ though…”

“Listen, Clara, I probably should have been clearer about this, but I didn’t ask you to move in with me because I felt sorry for you, or so that I could count down the days to when we could send Bert off to school. I asked because I fell in love with both of you, completely, and the fact I’ve got both of you to come home to now… it actually makes me _want_ to be here. I never had this before, and it’s great.” He brought his hands up from her hands to her face and began wiping the tears from her cheeks. “I’d ignored this sort of life because of work and I thought it passed me by, even if I did date a woman with kids. You’ve proved me wrong; do you realize how much it takes to make Malcolm Tucker, Bane of Government Cockups everywhere, admit that he was wrong about anything?”

“A lot,” she croaked.

“Yeah,” he agreed, brushing some hair from her face. He thought for a moment, gazing into her water-logged brown eyes, so red and puffy around the rims, and exhaled long and slow. “I guess now’s a good a time as ever.”

“For what?”

“To let you know I’m dead serious about this; I want to adopt Bert.”

Flabbergasted, Clara furrowed her brow. “You want to _what_ …?”

“If you’d let me, I want to adopt him so that he’s our son on paper,” Malcolm elaborated. “I want to make him my son, marry his mother, maybe even give him a little sibling or two if the other party involved would be up for it. He doesn’t have to be Robert David Tucker if he’d rather keep Pink, but I think it’d be fun to pass down my bollocking technique _officially_ instead of by heresay. I’m not the best catch, and the only reason I’ve still got what I’ve got is because I was fucking _lucky_ that I still had some friends during my trial, but what do you say?”

“I think you’re a dandy Scotch arse and I adore every bit of you for it,” she cried, completely taken aback. Clara pulled his face towards hers and kissed him, trying to not break into sobs.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cried while writing this, and I cry every time I've read it since. You have been warned.

Nearly an entire week had passed since Malcolm proposed marriage through an offer to adopt Robert and the adults were in a quandary. How were they going to tell the young boy about their plans? Was he going to react favorably? Would he refuse? They didn’t know, because even though they were all living under the same roof, Robert knew his father was the picture on his nightstand and might not be ready to think of someone else as his dad. If there was one thing Clara knew, it was that children were highly unpredictable when it came to this sort of thing.

“I almost want to just wait until it’s a done deal and the paperwork is filed and we’re on our way to the altar,” she frowned. Robert was in the sitting room watching telly, while she and Malcolm sat in the dining area having a cup of tea before getting started on dinner.

“You know that’s not right,” Malcolm mentioned. He had some of the adoption paperwork spread out in front of him, all the hoops he was going to need to jump through evident. “Bert needs to feel like he’s got a choice in the matter, or else it might come back to bite us and his siblings in the end.”

“ _If_ we decide to give him siblings,” Clara clarified. They gave one another flirty glances and went back to the topic at hand. “I just don’t know how to word it. He’s so attached to Danny’s memory that I don’t want to say the wrong thing and ruin it.”

“Then do you mind if I have a go?” he asked. “It might be better as a man-to-man talk.”

“First talk as father and son, you mean?” she chuckled. The look on her face was what let Malcolm know he had permission, so he stood and walked through the kitchen and into the sitting room.

“Hey, what’cha watching Bert?” he asked.

“Shaun the Sheep,” Robert said plainly. “This one’s my favorite.”

“Is it now? From your DVDs?” The little boy nodded. “Then if that’s so, can we take a wee break?”

“I guess.” He hit the pause button and watched as the adult sat down next to him, draping an arm over the back of the couch. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing’s the matter; I’m just curious about if you’re happy living here,” Malcolm said. “You and your mam have been here over a year now, and I don’t think I’ve asked you yet.”

“I think so,” Robert replied. “I have enough room to play with my friends, even though you and Mum have to share a bed, and we have fuckcakes on the weekends, and it’s very nice. Why?”

“Just, I want to make sure that you like it here. I know you agreed to move in, but that doesn’t mean you always like it once all the boxes are unpacked.”

“Don’t worry, Malcolm. You take good care of me and Mum, and we’re not as lonely anymore.” He stopped and pondered, his brow worrying terribly. “We don’t have to go, do we?”

“The opposite, actually,” the older man said. “Your mam and I were talking and we’ve been thinking about making this permanent. Forever. How would you feel about that?”

“I really don’t want to leave, but I like that,” Robert nodded. “But… wasn’t me and Mum moving in a forever-move?”

“It isn’t always,” Malcolm explained. “Sometimes you don’t know if you’re dating a bleeding banshee until after a few months of sharing a home.”

“So then Mum’s not a banshee?”

“Nope; she’s so lovely I want to marry her, make her Mrs. Tucker.”

“Wait, _really_?!” Robert gasped. He stood on the couch and looked over Malcolm’s shoulder at his mother. “Does this mean I’m gonna have a little brother?!”

“Naw, you little scamp, listen,” Malcolm smirked. He tickled Robert in the sides, causing the boy to laugh and come crashing down on the cushions. “People don’t always get married just because they’re going to have a baby.”

“Aww… I wanted a little brother,” Robert pouted.

“Maybe, one day, if things work out that your mam and I have a baby… but do you want to know what?”

“What?!” The boy crept up closer to his mother’s boyfriend, wanting to share in the secret.

“I’m impatient.”

“I know that, Malcolm! You yell at people holding up queues and call them…” He checked to make sure his mother was still in the dining area before whispering in Malcolm’s ear. “… _tits_.”

“That’s right, because they usually are,” Malcolm grinned, proud the boy was learning not only the finer points of language, but also that he was learning the art of discretion at the same time. “Do you know what adoption is, Robert?”

“Uhh… not really,” he replied. “Some kids tease Poppy for being adopted. Is that when you don’t look like your parents? She doesn’t look like hers. Is that bad?”

“Being adopted is actually one of the best things in the world.” He watched the boy’s face, checking for the idea going through his head, before continuing. “It means that someone wanted to raise a child so badly that they asked the government if they could take care of a child that otherwise doesn’t have anyone. People who tease others about being adopted are just too fucking thick to realize that.”

“Oh…” Robert mused. “Does this mean you want to adopt a child with Mum?”

“It means I want to adopt her child… _you_ ,” Malcolm said. “There are times when two people get married and one has a child they are raising on their own due to things like death or divorce. Occasionally, the person they’re marrying wants to help their new husband or wife out the best they can when it comes to the kid, and therefore they get adopted.” He watched as Robert grew quiet, retreating internally. “It doesn’t mean I want you to forget you had a da before me, because he is still very important, but I want to be able to call you my son, _officially_ , because I don’t want people to think that you’re just some kid living in my house.”

“Do… do I have to call you Dad?”

“Only if you want; we can do father-son stuff if you want as well, like going to the pub for a match, or fishing, or building shite in the back garden just to irritate your mam.”

“You fish?” Robert asked incredulously.

“What do you think I spent my Sundays doing as a young lad?” Malcolm laughed. “Never kept any of them, but I caught enough fish out of the Clyde to feed your whole school for a week. Besides, when it’s time for that Take Your Kid to Work crap, I can honestly say you’re _my_ kid, not my girlfriend’s or my wife’s.”

“If you adopt me, does that mean I need to have your name too?”

“Do you _want_ my name?”

“Well, I like being Robert, and I don’t really want to stop being Pink, since Dad wasn’t mean or anything, but I think having the same name as Mum would be nice…” The boy thought long and hard about it. “Can Pink maybe be another middle name? Like David? Mum says middle names are often used to honor people very special.”

“So no ‘Robert Pink-Tucker’, or ‘Robert Tucker-Pink’?”

“Nuh-uh. If I want, I can change it later, right?”

“People do all the time.”

“Then I just have one more question.”

“Anything.”

“Do I have to wait to call you Dad?”

“No, son; you can start right now.” Malcolm opened his arms wide and let Robert hug him tight. He held his tears in well enough until Clara came into the room a sobbing mess, sitting down on the other side of their son and hugging him, hugging them both.

Yes, he was going to be _their son_. Even if he was the only one, Robert would still be their child and nothing could change that.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was given a choice: Malcolm and Clara's wedding day, or fast-forward to when Robert's sibling is a bun in the oven. I went with neither, though an in-between.

_Honeymoon_ —Malcolm Tucker was on his _honeymoon_.

He pulled Clara in closer and kissed the back of her head, wondering if she was already awake. When she put her hand on one of his, he knew she was. They were in the south of France, somewhat in the off-season so that there weren't many others around speaking schoolboy French with heavy Isles accents. The hotel they were in was nice; the bed was soft and warm, the view over the vineyards was breathtaking, and the food they’d had at the hotel restaurant was definitely worth the upcharge. There was only one thing keeping the getaway from being towards the top of a universal Best Honeymoon list, and he was the reason why they needed a two-bed suite.

“Mum, Dad, come on! It’s time to get up!” Robert claimed, jumping up and down on his bed. He kept on bouncing, gaining momentum before leaping from his bed onto his parents.

“Fuck, Bert, I’ve only been your da for a month and you want to break me already…?!” Malcolm groaned. Luckily, he took the brunt of the fall, while Clara only got clipped on her arm and hip. “You’re gonna snap my old bones in half!”

“Then you should drink more milk, right Mum?”

“Our son has a point there, Malcolm,” Clara chuckled. She had taken delight in calling Robert _their_ son since the adoption paperwork had all gone through and cleared, allowing for her to go down to the school and officially change his name on the records sheets. “When we get home, I’m putting you on vitamin supplements.”

“So this is what it’s truly like to be married,” he teased. Malcolm rolled out of bed and snatched up the boy, tossing him on the bed _not_ occupied with his wife. “Alright you, go take your shower and get ready for the day. We’ve got that vineyard tour to go on, don’t we?”

“Yeah! That’s right!” Robert squealed. He dug into his suitcase and produced clothes that he took into the bathroom with him. The shower turned on and the adults grinned at one another.

“Oh, you are crafty,” Clara smirked. She went and opened her arms, waiting for her new husband to snuggle into her grasp. He did so, pressing kisses along her neck and letting his hands wander around her body.

“We’ve got about ten minutes—fifteen if he decides to make use of the bottomless hot water,” he said, lips still against her skin. “You’ll be so up the duff by the time we get back home that Bert’ll be horrified once he learns where his little sibling was made.”

“At least you’re used to getting in quickies while the kid’s occupied; we’re great parents already.”

“Used to it? Darling, I _thrive_ on it.”

* * *

The vineyard tour was a general success. There was a kids’ section, where Robert got to squish grapes in a press and learn about wine throughout history (thanks mostly in part to the guide’s schoolgirl English, which the boy was patient with), and Malcolm and Clara got to taste a bunch of different types of wine that were sold there. They bought a couple bottles for Clara, because when all was said and done, Malcolm shouldn’t have even been _tasting_ the wine, let alone buying himself more for later. It was time for lunch when Malcolm’s mobile went off—Sam’s number appearing on the screen.

“Fuck; gotta take this,” he muttered before swiping the call through, stepping away from his family. “Yeah? What’s the matter Sammy?”

‘ _Hey Malcolm; I wouldn’t normally call you, but I’m staring at a rather conspicuous package on the stoop and you told me to let you know when it got here._ ’

“Oh good! I've got two coming, so is it the heavy one or the light one?"

‘ _Light_ …’

“Alright—can you please put it in the spare bedroom for the time being? It, um, needs a bit of assembly first.”

‘ _Malcolm, that was your lying voice; what the fuck **is this thing**? It came all the way from Scotland and looks so nondescript that it screams sex toy_.’

“An urprise-say for the id-kay,” he explained, trying to keep his voice low. “I’ll tell ya later.”

‘ _You’re such a softie_ ,’ Sam laughed. They bid goodbye and ended the call, with Malcolm rejoining Robert and Clara on the road a few paces away.

“What was Auntie Sammy calling about?” Robert wondered.

“Ordered something online and she wanted to let me know it came in,” Malcolm said. “Hey, why don’t you go up to the room and put this away before we get going?” He held out the carrier with the wine and Robert’s eyes went wide.

“Really…?”

“Yeah, go ahead. You got your key?”

“Yup!” Robert took the wine and walked very carefully as he went into the hotel lobby, leaving his parents on the sidewalk.

“You bought _him_ something, didn’t you?” Clara deadpanned. She stared her husband down and he tried not to make eye contact. “You are going to spoil him rotten!”

“Kids need spoiling,” he defended. “Bert’s a good kid, so I think it’s deserved.”

“What did you get him…?”

“I got him a tam o’ shanter in some Glasgow colors—just some red, green, grey… bit of blue, nothing that will look like shite just sitting there—I don’t belong to a clan and I know the kid buys into all that, so I found him a wee something. Nothing big.”

“It’s bad enough that he got to come along on his parents’ honeymoon—don’t overdo it,” she warned.

“Uh-huh…” He bent down and murmured in her ear. “…and how many times have we fucked already, despite our chaperone?”

“Five.”

“…and we’ll get in at least two more before the day is done, I’ll betcha.” Robert then came back outside, grinning madly.

“Okay Dad! I put the bottles on the table!” he announced.

“There’s a good lad; now let’s get some lunch—I’m fucking starved.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt that resulted in this chapter gave me the hilarious image just because of Malcolm with that shit-eating grin like he’s going to castrate someone with a rusty spoon, except he’s holding an armful of teddy bears. Because why not.

At first it had been endearing, with how excited Malcolm was when she told him their honeymoon efforts paid off and she was pregnant. He and Robert had been equally elated, with the two almost immediately beginning to clear out the spare room and plan what they were going to do to make things absolutely _amazing_ for the new baby. Robert was understandably overjoyed at the idea of being a big brother, teaching the baby all there was to be about being a kid, and being their hero and protector, but _Malcolm_ , the man who didn’t know five years ago he’d be a husband and father, could barely be contained. Both the new nursery and Robert’s room got new coats of paint, which he decided would be a father-son project. They took a bank holiday weekend for the painting, and soon Robert’s room was a storm-grey and the nursery a brilliant blue. The pair came home one day with pink flannel sheets for the big brother and a cot that they attempted to assemble for the little sibling. Clara watched from her seat on the rocker, hands folded over her growing stomach, trying not to smirk at every little mishap.

Eventually though, things began becoming progressively weirder. New toys would randomly appear in the nursery, clearly not gifts from an unnamed coworker. Bits and bobs piled until it seemed as if they had everything they’d need for the baby for the next _year_. She’d give her husband a look, one warning him that he was treading a fine line, and he’d merely grin back, twirl her around, and dip her into a kiss that told her there was nothing to worry about.

One day, in the summer, Clara woke to find her bed empty aside from a note. ‘ _Gone to the store. –M_ ’ it read, and she shook her head and chuckled. She rolled out of bed, something that was getting increasingly difficult to do as of late, and stretched as she shuffled over to Robert’s room. He wasn’t there either, meaning he was either already awake and eating breakfast or he was out with Malcolm. A sweep of the rest of the house proved the latter. Picking up her mobile, she called her husband’s number, waiting for him to pick up.

“ _Morning_ ,” Malcolm answered. “ _Did you get my note?_ ”

“Why are my husband and son not home with me?” Clara asked, attempting to convey her irritation in her voice.

“ _Just picking up a few things…_ ”

“What _sort_ of few things, Malcolm?”

“ _Oh, a wee bit of this, a wee bit of that, just so we don’t have to get the shit next month_.”

“ ** _Malcolm_** , we’ve been _through this_ ,” she hissed. “You’re going to make Robert jealous one of these days with all this stuff you’re getting.”

“ _No he’s not, Mum!_ ” the boy in question said, voice far-off. He snatched the mobile and suddenly his voice was closer, clearer. “ _Dad’s never **had** a baby before, so he’s just trying to get in everything he missed because we didn’t know him when **I** was a baby! Don’t worry about me! I think it’s fun!_ ”

“Robert, it’s more than that,” she replied. “I don’t want you to spoil your little sibling rotten.”

“ _They won’t be rotten, Mum!_ ” he insisted. It sounded like he shifted within the shopping buggy and moved some things around. His voice grew softer, more pleading than before. “ _I slept in your room until we moved in with Dad—I want to make sure my little brother or sister has a cool room and awesome stuff right away. They’re gonna be taken care of by me too_.”

“Alright then, Robert,” Clara said. She coughed away from the mobile, trying to hide the fact she had tears in her eyes. “Can I talk to Dad?”

“ _Yeah, here you go_.” Ambient noise was the primary thing she heard until she heard Malcolm’s voice again.

“ _Everything alright?_ ”

“Just come home, please,” she requested. “We have a little over a month before there will be no more quiet mornings for a long time; I just want to enjoy it with you two.”

He paused, the only thing audible being his light breathing. “ _Let me pay for the stuff, make one more stop, and we’ll be all yours for the rest of the day_.”

“Serious?”

“ _Deadly fucking serious; got to go, yeah? Love you_.”

“Miss you.” The call cut and Clara began to wait for her boys to return. She ate some breakfast and reclined on the couch while reading a book. A couple chapters later and Robert came zooming in through the front door, finding his way to his mother’s side.

“Sorry if we made you cross,” he apologized, hugging her around her large middle. “We were planning on getting back before you got up.”

“What’s done is done, Robert. It’s okay,” she said, scratching his scalp through his curly hair. The short-cropped cut made her think about one time when Danny hadn’t found the time to go to the barber for a month longer than he’d wanted, which resulted in a voluminous pile of tight curls right out of a disco film. Robert had definitely inherited Danny’s hair; she was going to have to make sure she dug up that photo one day. “So what did you get at the store?”

“Here we are,” Malcolm said, coming into view. He held out a gift box, which Clara took and carefully opened. Inside was a photo frame, one that was inscribed with “ _The Tucker Family_ ” on the bottom in script lettering, the gold paint shining brightly in the light. “If you want me to lay the fuck off, I will; at least most of this trip was just groceries—tinned things and the like—stuff that won’t spoil in the cupboards while we’re busy with both the wee bairn and the not-so-wee bairn at once.”

“It’s lovely,” she replied. Clara gently ran her fingers over the lettering on the frame before holding it out towards Robert. “Can you please put this in my room? We’re going to have to make sure we get a portrait done around Christmastime.”

“Okay, Mum!” he said, taking the frame and dashing towards the stairs. Malcolm leaned down and kissed her gently before going to bring in the groceries. It was the little things that they were clinging to, and that was fine for now.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one ended up edited a bit differently than the prompt, but I was tossed the line "The closer I get to the due date the more antsy you get, every time I call you, you pick up screaming and asking if my water broke!" and it was too good to resist.

“Malcolm, calm down,” Clara frowned into the phone. “All I want is for you to pick up some milk for tea on the way home.”

“ _Are you **sure** you’re fine?_ ” he asked, voice still panicky. “ _I can be at the house in only a tic_ …”

“…and it’s driving me _insane_ ,” she replied. Clara glanced over at the sitting room couch, where Robert was quietly reading a book for school. “Why don’t you just use some vacation days already? Put in for paternity leave… _something_ to keep you here and less jittery.”

“ _Can’t until the babe's born and you know that_ ,” he said. “ _I’ll get the milk. Anything else?_ ”

“Come home in one piece,” she ordered before hanging up. Placing the mobile on the kitchen table, she went to go join her son over on the couch. She folded her hands and rested them on her stomach, frustrated.

“That’s not good for Alice, Mum,” Robert noted. He saw his mother hadn’t changed her expression and groaned. “Did Dad try to blow his fuse again?”

“He didn’t mean to,” she scowled, only half-believing herself. Clara huffed in irritation, simply wanting to be holding her daughter in her arms. Ever since when she slipped the previous week and referred to the baby as a _she_ , the poor child was now named and her father was becoming increasingly jittery, moreso than he had been before. Sure her due date was just over two weeks away, but it still felt ridiculous. It felt odd to image how tense Malcolm would be if she  _hadn't_ kept Alice's gender a secret from her family from the moment she'd known... adopting Robert had been a big step, but having a daughter of his own flesh and blood was another thing entirely. She glanced at her son and exhaled heavily. “I just need your father to calm down.”

“If he’s not calm now, he won’t be calm _ever_ ,” he reminded her. “Alice’s the baby and we’ll _always_ panic over her.”

“Well, I’d appreciate it if the two of you did less of it,” she replied. She sighed again and placed an arm around her son. “Have I ever told you about when you started to come into the world?”

“No…” he said tentatively. “When?”

“I was in the middle of class, on my last week of work,” she chuckled. The memory was one she was visiting with increasing frequency as of late, which brought comfort to her knowing that she was no longer as alone as she once was. “It was right after lunch, when all of a sudden I felt a twinge and I knew it was you coming. I was able to make it until the end of class and the headmaster filled in for me the remainder of the day.”

“Who drove you to the hospital?”

“The caretaker; he was a very nice man. You remember Mr. Atif, don’t you?”

“Yeah, and I don’t know why he had to retire,” Robert replied. “He was really fun, and liked to give me sweets.”

“Yes, I remember,” Clara said. “Mr. Browne is okay too though, isn’t he?”

“I don’t think he likes me as much,” the boy muttered. He pressed into his mother’s side, allowing her to hug him tightly. “He looks at me funny and didn’t believe me when I told him Malcolm was my dad.”

“Ah…” she noted. “Well, Mr. Browne never knew your first dad, so he doesn’t understand, but Mr. Atif did and they did get on well enough when Danny was alive. You know, there’s going to be a lot of people who won’t believe that Malcolm is your dad and Alice your sister, even if you insist.”

“How do you _know_ though that Alice isn’t going to look like me?” Robert asked, recalling a conversation his parents already had with him.

“…because a baby only has a chance of looking like the mum and dad that made them,” she explained. “Alice is going to look like a cross between Malcolm and me, while you strongly take after Danny with only a couple bits of me. Just because you resemble one parent while your sister will resemble another doesn’t mean that you’re any less siblings and Malcolm and I are any less your parents.” She paused in an attempt to glean her son’s reaction. “I thought you wanted Malcolm as a dad.”

“I do… and I like him as my dad… but…”

“…but…?”

“…but I want to make sure that people don’t try to convince us we’re not siblings.” He snuggled in closer, putting his hand on the side of his mother’s stomach. “I’m still a kid, but even _littler_ kids believe _anyone_.”

“Don’t worry; I doubt Malcolm will allow Alice to ever think that you’re nothing less than her brother. Lots of people raise children from a previous relationship alongside children from their current one, so I don’t think it will be as bad as you think.” Clara stroked Robert’s hair and tutted, trying to make light of the idea. “Alice will be a very clever little girl, and do you want to know how I can tell?”

“…how?”

“…because she has her very clever older brother, who will make sure that she is the center of his world and he is the center of hers,” his mum replied. A moment passed and she bit her lip, making a tiny noise. She rubbed her son’s upper arm and gave him a kind smile. “Hey, can you go get my mobile and put away your book?”

“Okay, Mum,” Robert nodded. He picked up his book and delivered the mobile before disappearing up the stairs. Clara hit speed-dial, taking deep breaths.

“Yeah?” Malcolm answered, now sounding a tad flustered. “Need me to pick up something else?”

“Me,” she answered. “Alice is coming, **_now.”_**

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is the last one until someone sends me more prompts on my writing tumblr. Also, it is a bit longer/more polished than the original version, since I had posted that one at nearly two in the morning and so therefore I was out of it.

When Alice Malina Scarlett Tucker came into the world, she did in a windstorm, both literal and figurative. Her brother and father panicked and rushed all around in an attempt to make sure she and her mother were alright. Once they were at the hospital everything was fine, except for the fact a series of heavy gales were pummeling London with enough force to knock out power in several places, including the building the maternity ward was in. It was funny how she was delivered in the dark yet ended up being the light of her family’s life.

She went home when she was healthy enough, as all babies did, and then the real fun began. It was endless nappies and feedings and lullabies and waking up at all hours of the day and night. Things got to the point where even Robert was in on the action, being the lightest sleeper of them all. He helped with dressing and bottles and everything but nappies… well, he tried nappies once. The act of his sister peeing on him didn’t exactly thrill him into volunteering again.

“Wee babbies share a bond with those they piss on,” Malcolm had chuckled as he took over, brandishing a onesie sporting a rather ruse phrase. “Don’t worry Bert—it’ll be a story to tell on her wedding day.”

Robert merely crinkled his nose and deposited the nappy in the bin, swearing he would never change another one as long as he lived. He was six, nearly seven, and nappies were far from his agenda of things he was willing to do ever again, even if it was to help take care of his long-awaited and beloved baby sister.

Holding, though, that he could do. Alice didn’t move very much, so when he was sitting anyhow it wasn’t much bother. Robert would come home from school every day to his parents fussing over his sister, who was being fussy herself. He’d change out of his uniform, settle down on the couch, and get passed the baby while Malcolm and Clara took an hour-long nap. Sometimes they napped right there on the couch next to him, not even caring that there was a DVD in or he was watching telly. The shorter animated films were deserving of the _whole_ duration being naptime and Robert knew he was doing his part. It wasn’t much, but he was an immense help and he knew it.

One day, Clara woke up with Malcolm sprawled out atop her, having gone way over their time limit. It was a Friday—they usually slept in a little on Fridays—to which she thanked the Lord that things were slightly more flexible.

“Malcolm,” she murmured, playing with his hair. “Malcolm; it’s time to get up.”

“She’s not wailin’. Let her be,” he said into her shoulder. “We haven’t been down and out this long together for over a month.”

“No, it just feels like it, but we really should get up. It’s almost suppertime.”

“Aw, fuck,” he cursed. Malcolm gave his wife a peck on the lips and rolled over, sitting up on the edge of the mattress. “Let me go—you get a bit more rest.”

“…and what are you going to do with her?”

“Put her in her bouncing seat on the kitchen table while I cook.”

“Are you now?”

“What fucking else would I do? She can’t go in the papoose when I’ve got olive oil splattering all over the place like I’m attempting a castle siege.”

“Fair enough,” Clara agreed. She let Malcolm kiss her hand before watching him leave the bedroom, walking towards the stairs with his footfalls barely audible. Drifting off, she was incredibly glad her boys were both so helpful.

“What’cha watching, Bert?” Malcolm asked as he walked into the living room. He glanced over at his kids and saw that brother and sister were asleep, the former sitting straight up as he held the latter firmly against his arm and chest. The DVD menu was in a repeat loop on the television screen—whatever had been playing was over.

Carefully, Malcolm squatted down in front of the children and began to ease Alice from Robert’s arms. The little boy jolted awake, terrified that his sister might be falling.

“Hey, hey, it’s just me,” Malcolm assured. Robert yawned and nodded, letting go of Alice so their dad could take her. His eyes were watery and his nose a wee bit runny. “You alright?”

“Uh-huh.” Robert rubbed the sleep and wet from his eyes and followed Malcolm into the kitchen. “I was just scared I dropped Alice.”

“Nah; you had a pretty good grip on her,” Malcolm replied. “I was surprised you were asleep though. You never fall asleep when holding Alice. Didn’t you get sleep last night?”

“Yeah, but… I don’t know, Dad…” He looked at Alice, now in her soft tabletop bouncing seat, and sighed loudly. “They don't look it, but babies are hard work.”

“They are; it’s why a lot of the time you need two parents to keep up with them,” Malcolm said, getting out pans. “You’ve been keeping up really well yourself though; I’m proud of you, honest.”

“Thank you,” Robert mumbled. He gently kept the bouncer bouncing and observed his sister, seeing how peaceful she was. “I like Alice like this—she’s kinda easy. We don’t have to run around after her yet.”

“Oh, yeah, she’s going to run, a lot—Tuckers are runners,” Malcolm laughed. That made Robert giggle.

“You couldn’t run to save your life, Dad.”

“Come on Bert—we won a ribbon at Field Day.”

“A _participation_ ribbon.”

Malcolm blinked. “That’s right. Why the fuck do they give those out anyhow?”

“I dunno.” Robert saw Alice’s eyes open and smiled. “If she got your run, she’s fucked in sports.”

“That’s why Tuckers also do shit with their minds more than their bodies; didn’t go through debates and newspaper club for nothing.”

“You’re such a nerd, Dad,” Robert said.

"Hey, got to know your strengths and weaknesses," the man chuckled. He paused cleaning chicken to glance over at the kids, noticing that his eldest seemed a bit more introspective than usual. "What's got you so glum?"

"I'm not glum," his son protested. "It's just..." He drifted off in thought, trying to figure out how to word it. "What will I be good at?"

"Maths, probably--your mam said Danny was more than good enough to teach it. You might have athletics, or just wait: I might have a couple future Literature professors sitting at my table."

"I do like reading..."

"See? You don't have to take after your da in all ways. I'll be fucking proud of you, no matter what you end up doing."

"Thanks, Dad." Malcolm smiled at that, knowing it was heartfelt, and continued making dinner. "Oh, Dad?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you think you and Mum will have any more babies?"

"We might, but that's up to Mam, and her and I already agreed that we'd see how we do with you and Alice first before considering another kid. It'd be bad enough if we were cocking it up with just the two of you--three would be a disaster."

That made Robert giggle again. "Okay, fair enough."

Silence passed over them, the only sounds being the sizzling of the olive oil and clang of pans. Malcolm looked at his kids, curious.

"Did you _want_ another sister?" he wondered, "or maybe a brother?"

"Not necessarily," Robert said, shaking his head. "I like Alice so far."

"So you forgave her for the Nappy Incident?"

"Fuck no--I meant _overall_ I like her, the Nappy Incident is different," the little boy scowled. He scrunched his nose and poked his sister's nose. "I hope you get peed on by babies too." Alice squirmed in protest, swatting at Robert's hand.

At least, Malcolm knew, that his kids would have each other, and that was plenty enough for him.

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The following takes place when Robert is in his last year of primary, Alice is in her last year before primary, and while Malcolm is a retiree stay-at-home dad who only kinda features.

“Hey, Bert, wanna go catch a movie?” one of the other boys asked. It was half a day as the primary school let out, giving the teachers prep time for Parents’ Night later on that evening. All the students had happily flooded into the yard and some of the older ones were already bunching up into their pre-approved groups and headed off to wherever it was that was to babysit them until their parents were off of work.

“No—I think I should go home this time,” Robert said, trying to shrug it off. He attempted to look as bummed as possible at passing the chance of running off with his mates. “Dad wants me home today, and if I don’t make it he’ll be cross.”

“That shite’s not even your real dad—why do you listen to him?” another boy asked. “If he threatens you, just say you’ll call social services on him.”

“No… that’s not it,” Robert said. He never did understand others’ love of manipulation and thought doing things like that was wrong, though he couldn’t say it in front of the other lads. “I just… I’ve got to go. Maybe next time Dad’ll let me.”

“Yeah, you do that Cinderobert; see how well that goes for ya.” The other boys chuckled and walked away—he didn’t like them much anyway. Robert went to turn towards the gate and nearly ran over another student, a girl, who was giving him a rather critical look.

“Why do you let them treat you like that?” she asked. “Your dad’s not a nasty man, so tell them.”

“They believe what they want to believe and that’s their problem.”

“Yeah, but one day a teacher that doesn’t _know_ your dad is going to hear them and he’ll get in trouble for no reason.”

“ _Poppy_ …”

“Bert Tucker, you are _thick_ ,” she scowled before stomping off. Robert exhaled heavily and began the walk home by himself. It wasn’t necessarily a lonely walk, because before he knew it he saw the street he lived on, which meant he was home.

Slipping in the front door of his parents’ house, the boy was barely able to put down his bag before his sister noticed he was home. She barreled into his legs and hugged him tight, staring up at him with wide, excited eyes that were as grey-blue as the sky outside.

“Bert, you’re home!” Alice cheered. “Daddy was right!”

“Well of course Dad’s right—he has to be, because bad things happen when he’s wrong.”

“You’re home for lunch though! This is fun!” She waited for him to kick off his shoes before taking his hand and dragging him into the kitchen, where their father was already putting sandwiches and crisps on the table. “Daddy! Bert’s here!”

“I told you, now didn’t I?” he chuckled. Malcolm sat down at the table with the kids and they all started eating. “Have fun your half day, son?”

“Yeah; some of my mates wanted me to go to the cinema with them, but I turned them down.”

“You could have called to let me know.”

“I know, but, they like to pay for a kids’ movie and slip into something else—I’d be in a tight spot if they did that this time.”

“Well, they’re _tossers_ ,” Alice declared. She kicked her feet happily as she continued munching on her sandwich, humming a little tune. “Oh, can we play school?!”

“Sure,” Robert said. Alice cheered and began hurriedly eating the remainder of her lunch. She ran from the table with cheeks full of food, clamoring up the stairs to get everything set up. “She’s not going to be so keen next year, is she, Dad?”

“I think that’s a safe bet,” he replied.

He then shooed Robert off so he could clean up, leaving the boy to go upstairs to his sister’s room. Alice had already set up her toy desks, with dolls in the spares, and was in the process of adjusting the position of the chalkboard when her brother came in.

“Oh, good! It’s school time!” she giggled, rushing back to the open desk. “Good morning, Mr. Pink!”

“Good morning, Miss Scarlett,” Robert said, sounding as official as a ten-year-old could. “Did you do your coursework?”

“Yes!” Alice shouted, holding up a pile of papers. “Ready for marking!”

“Good job,” he said. Robert wrote a couple simple addition and subtraction problems on the board and traded the papers for the chalk. “Go ahead and solve the problems on the board while I mark your work, and no fingers this time.”

“Yes, sir!” Alice went up to the board while her brother began to sort through her papers, all of which were different crayon drawings. Once they were marked he placed them back down on her desk and watched as she struggled over the last maths problem.

“Do you need any help?” he wondered.

“No… I can do it,” she replied. It was 19 -27, which was admittedly a bit more complex than what any kid would learn in Year One, but Robert didn’t want Alice to go in unprepared. “When the bigger number is being minused, that means the answer is a minus, yeah?”

“A _negative number_ , not a minus number,” he corrected gently. “Negative numbers are like when you go buy something at the store, and you have to pay the clerk in order to take your shopping.”

“So an owed number?”

“Kinda.”

Alice then went to the little bit of space she had left on the board and did the problem backwards. 27-19 = 8. She then wrote -8 underneath the problem she was stuck on. “Like that?”

“Very good, Miss Scarlett! Go back to your seat,” Robert beamed. Alice did so and looked over her papers, gasping at one of them.

“A C?! That’s bunk!”

“That was sloppy work, Miss Scarlett; you are capable of better.” He then saw his sister try to stifle a yawn, at which he had an idea. “I think it’s Story Time—let’s clear the floor.”

Together, the siblings put away the toy desks and found the tiny stool that Robert had to scrunch on in order to tell stories. Alice took her dolls and stuffed animals and some action figures and lined them up to listen too, the final touch being the wrapping her spare blanket around her before sitting down in the center of the “class”.

“Once, in a faraway land, there was little boy and girl. They were brother and sister; they did everything together and were all one another had…”

“Ooooh! I like this one!”

“Hush! Now the siblings were walking to the store one day, to get themselves some snacks, when suddenly a blue box appeared in the street before them.” Robert blew air out of his mouth loudly, not sharp enough to whistle, but enough to make a wooshing noise to signal the incoming box. “They didn’t know what to do, because the box said ‘POLICE’, but it wasn’t the nature of the police to have disappearing boxes.

“Suddenly, a man popped out of the box, with wild grey hair and fiercely cross eyebrows! ‘Och, aye, what arr yoo doin’ ‘ere, yeh wee nips?’ he wondered.” Alice giggled at the exaggerated accent, knowing it was a poor imitation of their dad. “The kids said that they were just on the way to get some snacks, but they were not allowed to talk with strangers unless it was to tell them how to get to Tesco or the main road. That was something the man agreed with, and locked up the box before walking inside a nearby bookshop.

“At this point, the kids were curious, so they tried to peek inside the disappearing box. It wasn’t as locked as the man thought it was, and they were able to get inside.”

“What did they find inside?” Alice asked, laying down on the floor. She used a stuffed animal as a pillow, staring up at her brother.

“The box, which only looked about as big as a port-a-loo, was actually _huge_ on the inside!” Robert said, waving his arms around. “It was a big, sciencey space ship, with all sorts of sciencey gadgets in it! The siblings looked around in wonder because they had never seen such a thing.

“…but the lady!”

“I’m getting to her—the man with the cross eyebrows then came back into his box, wondering why the door had been opened. He had a lady with him now, who seemed just as curious as he was, and they found the siblings hiding underneath the thing that makes the spaceship go. The lady was one of the kids’ teachers at school, and she explained that the man was actually an _outer-space alien_ and that when she wasn’t teaching they went on adventures through time and space.

“Because the kids didn’t have anywhere to go, because they only had each other, they asked if they could go along on an adventure too. The space-man and the teacher discussed it quietly like adults and decided that yes, they were going to keep the brother and sister. Rooms appeared in the spaceship for them and they rode off to have fun throughout the galaxies.”

“Were they scary adventures?” Alice yawned. Robert gently picked her up and placed her on her bed.

“Some of them were, some of them weren’t, but everything was very, very fun.” Soon as he was sure she was asleep, the boy navigated through the minefield of toys and let her nap away. He went downstairs, where their dad was finished cleaning up from lunch and was now reading on the couch.

“She go down okay for you?” Malcolm asked as Robert plucked his own book off the shelf and curled up with it.

“Yeah, Dad. Pretty sure it beats getting tossed out of the cinema.”


End file.
